And Dream I Do
by KShade
Summary: After Chosen, Buffy dreams about Spike. "it's not really right for me to go all forget-y with the imagination, cause he deserved to be remembered." But who can decide what they dream, and dream I do (Evanescence) Will the slayer be able to return to reality? Does she want to? Two-shot (second part is rated M)


**Haha more spuffy? You bet! I kinda love this ship. (And have any of you read the s8 comics? If so, PM me! I have no one to talk about them with.) This ignores s8, set sometime after Chosen.**

_But who can decide what they dream, and dream I do  
-Taking over me, Evanescence_

Fatigued from her last patrol, Buffy dragged herself into bed, hoping to actually sleep tonight. Most other nights, she just saw the faces of everyone that was lost, particularly _his. _Doing a few quick stretches, and massaging the spot on her leg where the vamp had struck her. Either they were getting stronger or she was getting distracted-er. She suspected the latter. It was a good thing she wasn't the only slayer any more.

Buffy got into the bed, trying just to fall asleep. Hopefully, if she didn't think she could avoid the tossing and turning, maybe get _one_ good night's sleep. Just one night where she didn't see all the casualties from her battle with the First. She hadn't thought everyone would survive, but _Anya _and _Spike_. Particularly the way Spike died, to save the world. And, Anya, who could have lived thousands of years, and died so soon, before even the humans in her life. Not that she wasn't human again, and mortal, but Buffy had always thought she'd die a third, final time before she saw any of her friends die. Or Spike. _Stop thinking about him!_ She ordered herself.

_She'd loved him, and now he'd never know, _her traitorous mind reminded her. Cursing herself for not being able to shut her mind off, she turned over, trying to get to sleep at a decent hour. She rolled around, trying to get comfortable. Falling into another fitful night of sleep, it wasn't long before Buffy's reoccurring nightmare overtook her.

She held Spike's hand, ignoring that it was on fire, and that it was giving her a bit of a burn. She looked into the eyes of the soulful vampire, "I love you," she told him, urgently, hoping he'd believe it. Every night, she hoped he'd believe it, but he never could. Nope, she'd made it pretty damned clear to him that she 'could never love him', he believed it even when she didn't. She really had hurt him, but there was no going back.

He responded just as softly "no you don't, but thanks for saying it." He looked like he wanted to believe it, but after everything between them, he couldn't. Before he could say or do anything, she kissed him. She knew it wouldn't change his mind, and that since he was starting to glow, Sunnydale was about to go all crater-y around her. Maybe when it was even more too late, he'd realize that she actually loved him. She stood there as the city crumbled around them, telling him with her lips what he would never believe verbally.

When he crumbled into dust, she felt the searing light around him hit her, and she felt herself burning, as she slowly, agonizingly perished. Buffy awoke with a start, feeling a contrastingly cold presence behind her. She sighed, tonight she really was going to dream the classics, wasn't she?

"Are you alright, pet?" She heard his familiar voice, with that English accent that she'd always found kinda sexy. Not that she would admit that, _ever_. It seemed so real, but she knew it would never actually be. If he came back, he'd probably still never believe her. He probably wouldn't even want to be near her. She did seem to attract apocalypses. He'd be safer away from her. She just wished she'd given him a reason to come back.

"Spike!" whispered Buffy, not caring that indulging in these fantasy-dreams wasn't going to help her move on. She turned around, embracing his chiseled form. He felt cold against her heated body, but just feeling him, or thinking she felt him was worth it. Worth the way she knew it would hurt to wake up alone and avoid the pity of her friends and the potentials—er, the slayers. God, it was confusing now.

He kissed her cheek lightly, "I came back for you, love," he whispered. He looked so sincere, and so real, even with small scars where she'd seen the light pouring from him.

Buffy felt a pang when Spike said that. Even her sex-dreams couldn't make her happy anymore. "No, you didn't," she sighed, "you're my way of coping. You're not real. This is just another of those dreams. I'll tell you I love you and this time you'll believe me, because this is my mind. Then we'll make love and I'll wake up alone. The other side of the bed'll be empty, and Willow will have to try not to make her pity face at Xander and I. Every night I think 'hey, maybe this time's real,' and it's never any real-er. So I just get all hope-y for nothing. Xander's doing better than I am, hell, Dawn's doing better and she-"

He kissed her, cutting off her tirade. Their lips danced just like they used to, and she pulled him close, wanting to feel him. This was the only time she could feel Spike, so she was damned well going to enjoy it. Maybe she could convince herself he was real this time and her conscience would shut up. Just as she was getting lost in the delicious sensation of him rubbing against her, he pulled away. "I am real, pet. And did you just say you dream about shagging me?" He raised an eyebrow quizzically at Buffy.

"Open mouth, insert foot," Buffy commented, blushing at the fact that she just told the closest thing she had to Spike that she dreamed about him, "and you always say you're real. And then I tell you I love you and you-" she started, deciding it didn't matter what she told him. He wasn't real. Tomorrow night, dream-Spike wouldn't remember this at all. Then Spike interrupted, saving her from saying any more.

"What do you tell me, pet?" He asked, lightly caressing the side of her face. She looked deep into his eyes, seeing something in them. It was almost like shock, but a more happy version, like awe or something to that effect.

"I love you," she repeated, feeling that flash of vulnerability when the words left her lips. Even though this was a dream, she still felt vulnerable saying the words. Maybe it was the slayer in her that wanted her to stand alone, or maybe it was the Buffy half that wasn't so much on the trusting, but she was worried that he wouldn't love her anymore.

Spike's cool lips were on hers the second she said it. The kiss was fiercely passionate, like the way he'd described love, burning and consuming. She pressed against him, feeling his arousal pressing into her. _No,_ she reminded herself_, thinking you feel it. You only think this is happening._ The dream was definitely more vivid than any other one she'd had. She wondered idly if she was _that_ desperate. She'd never felt him before, maybe her imagination was trying harder.

He pulled away for a moment. "I love you," he said softly, cupping her face in his hands. Buffy kissed him again, gently. She hoped that the real Spike could see that she actually loved him. The real Spike... Her conscience panged. Here she was, about to take advantage of her imagination, when Spike was dead, and it may have been her fault. She was the slayer. It was her job to save the world or die trying. Preferably with less of the 'die trying'. She shouldn't have let him take the amulet. It just stipulated someone with a soul who was more than human. As a slayer, couldn't that have been her?

"I can't do this," she pulled away, meeting dream Spike's eyes with a look of shame, "real Spike—the not-so-forgiving Spike—died for me. Well, for the world. It was noble, really. But it should've been me. And now it's not really right for me to go all forget-y with the imagination, cause he deserved to be remembered," she explained, not meeting his eyes. She felt ashamed that she was letting herself have these little respites. She didn't deserve them.

Something changed in Spike's eyes when she spoke. They became almost awed by her admission. "Love, I am here. I'm not a bloody hallucination," he insisted, "and I did what you always do. I died, but here in Sunnyhell that doesn't mean a bleeding thing. And to keep you alive, I'd do it again. I'm love's bitch, remember?" he reminded her, looking a little frustrated that she couldn't seem to believe he was real.

Buffy thought for a moment, trying to determine how Spike managed to come back this time. It didn't seem possible. _Stop it, _she reprimanded herself, _Spike is probably in heaven… you wouldn't want him to be pulled out. _Even still, she wished he knew that she hadn't just said it because he was dying. The familiar thought hit her again, _I loved him, and now he'll never know. _Would that damned thought go away?

She didn't respond to her imaginary Spike, just let the tears that she'd been trying to hide from her friends finally come out. She pressed her face into his shoulder, sobbing into it. She had to be so strong for her friends, the new slayers. She'd never had time to mourn. Spike just held her while she cried, stroking her hair and back, whispering to her that he _was_ here, and he loved her. He told her how strong she was and she just wished this could be real. But if this was, why would he have found her? Again with the 'safer to avoid' deal. Why would he come back?

He wiped away her tears, gently before kissing her, which reminded her that in her dreams, she still had him. Buffy knew that the kindness she treated this Spike with was probably an insult to the memory of real Spike. There'd been so much bad between them, she'd used him and abused him, treated him like a toy and not a person who loved her. Sure, at times, he'd been okay with being rough, but there had been other times where he'd begged her "_not like this, love,_" or even told her outright to stop. She'd usually just told him to shut up. Why was it that now it was far too late she saw how wrong that was? How wrong it had been to beat him into a pulp, physically and verbally and use him to feel.

Sure, there had been one time he'd reversed things; showed her what she was doing to him. Just once, and she'd thought she was _such _a victim. After all the times she'd called him a soulless demon, beneath her, nothing, he'd showed her that side of him. Why did she only understand that now? Looking up at the beautiful blue eyes of the vampire consoling her, she said something she should have told him a long time ago. "I'm sorry."

Then, a miracle happened. Before Spike could answer, Willow knocked on the door, "Buffy! I'm going to make breakfast, are you up?" the witch opened the door to check on her friend, seeing Spike there with her. The look of shock on Willow's face suddenly made Buffy realize something. This was real! Buffy looked from Willow to Spike, wondering if her best friend had been the one to bring him back. Deciding to save the why for after, she kissed Spike again, this time letting go completely, knowing that this was no figment, this was _her_ Spike, and she would be able to make amends.

Willow walked away satisfiedly, passing Xander's room on the way, hearing him and Anya (those two were good at arguing). They'd both been mystical deaths, so it was easy enough for her to procure the necessary ingredients and bespell them—this time before they reached heaven. The only person she knew she'd never get back was the one person she wanted the most. Despite that Willow had just done something most witches would kill for the power to do, and returned the significant others to her two best friends, Willow had never felt more alone.

Kennedy saw her, sitting there, and watched the girl she'd called a goddess fight back tears. That wasn't going to do; Willow was her way, like she said earlier. She didn't know how to make this better though. Kennedy was a slayer, and she was used to feeling pretty damn powerful, but she felt powerless now. What she and Willow had was a dream, and bringing back Anya and Spike may have awakened her, because the _thing _she'd spoken to had reminded her, "the answer is still no". Kennedy knew Willow still loved Tara, still grieved for her but she'd assumed Willow would slowly heal. There was no healing happening at all.

Kennedy sighed, going to make herself something to eat. There was nothing she could do. Willow was goddess-level powerful, and she still couldn't reverse death. What could Kennedy do?

Dawn woke up, hearing the commotion in the hall, and running to make sure the First hadn't come back. All she saw was Willow, sitting alone, crying a little into her palm. Dawn had always liked Willow. She'd always been nice, and she hadn't treated Dawn like a child. Not to mention that she'd brought Buffy back from the dead. She went to hug Willow, wondering where Buffy was while her best friend was mourning.

Willow felt Dawn hug her, and she smiled up at the younger girl. Here, with the scoobies, you were never really alone. Getting up, she gave Dawn an appreciative look.

"I did it, Dawnie!" she whispered, "that sky net spell you researched did the trick." Willow wished she sounded more enthused.

"You'll find her, Will, you'll find her somehow."

**So, a bit of a sad ending… and no detailed Spuffy. Damn me. Originally, I had the entire scene imagined to a tee. Then, nothing went as planned. I had to make cut scenes and write about Willow and grr. Actually, I think I'm going to write my spuffy scene and post it as a chapter 2… Anyways, I'm on vacation, so, sorry this took three weeks to write.**


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